Sarge
by WeirdDutchGuy
Summary: Currently stretches from Dday to Market Garden, and unfortunately that is where it will stay. Story discontinued because it didn't turn out the way I wanted. Watch out for the revamp though, I'm redoing it!
1. The Beach

**Silly-disclaimer-thing-that-is-required-because-of-Gods-knows-why: **In fact I DO own Medal of Honor (psx version), and Medal of Honor Allied Assault (pc version) and its expansion Spearhead, and Medal of Honor Rising Sun (cube version), and Medal of Honor Frontline (cube version) SO THERE, HAH! Of course, I do not own the copyright to any of this so I don't own the plot or the characters or anything else somehow tied to the whole MOH part of EA games. Don't expect to see another one of these disclaimers around anytime soon.

**AN:** Not many stories about this game, now are there? I've just about played every MOH game in existence, except the MOH:AA Breakthrough expansion and Pacific Assault. I've read countless books about the Second World War and seen plenty of it on my TV screen so I think I might just know a thing or two about it. This story is going to be as realistic as possible, and so expect to see lots and lots of death, blood, violence etc. etc. etc. Now let's get this story started!

NOTE: This is an R rated story! It says PG13 because it won't allow R in my C2 community! Just to be safe...

* * *

_I watched him die… _

_I watched him die, and did nothing to help… _

_He just lay there, in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of countless others. _

_His heart was still pumping, it had to have, because the blood just kept on coming. _

_I slipped into a sort of trance, along with so many others that day. The sound of the machinegun fire slowly faded away, the world became nothing but a blur. I didn't feel guilt. How could I have helped him? By running over? By getting myself shot? By dying? No! No more death, I would live! And I thought training had been hell… Training hadn't even been close to resembling this hell. How could anything possible resemble this? Sarge had always told us to keep our shit together, but now, Sarge was gone, and so was our hope. Our hope lay there in its own blood and had just given its last breath. It had been with us since our first training until just now. Our hope was Sarge, and now he was dead. But I would live…

* * *

_

My effort in this madman's war started about 2 years ago, when I lied about my age and signed up for the military. I didn't see a problem back then. I'd turn 18 in a few months anyway. Training was said to be hard and though. But nothing I had heard could prepare me for what lay ahead. From day one we were pushed beyond our limits, forcing us to use strength we never knew we had. Sarge was with us the whole time. He never made us do anything he wouldn't do. But then, there was nothing he wouldn't do anyway. Sarge was our example, our hero. His real name was David. He was a teacher in his civilian life, and had a wife and 2 kids. Even so, as a drill sergeant, he was though as hell!

The basic training took a few months to complete. I was 18 when we finished. But we weren't trained to do basic stuff. We were to be used in the invasion of mainland Europe. The Normandy coast in France to be exact. Earlier landings in Africa were done without to many losses, but this was different. We had to face Hitler's Atlantic Wall. In order to do that, we were given special training in England.

After being shipped to England in a convoy of ships, which didn't make it all because of the U-boats and mines, we were split up into different sections. Mine was lucky enough to have Sarge, who was to partake in the landings as well. We were happy to have Sarge, it gave us courage and hope. Besides Sarge and myself, my section consisted of Pratt, Natalle, Piper and Tucker. We were part of the 29th Infantry Division. The initial practice landings on the England coast were complete chaos, however, that changed as time went by and more landings were done. Just a few weeks and it would be time.

* * *

"OK men! We're gonna do another drill! Stop moaning and get your asses in gear!" 

Sarge's words still echoed in my head. Another drill, one of many, they all ended up the same. We were becoming robots, everything went automatically, thinking was no longer required. Dismantling and cleaning our guns, packing our gear, the march to the docks, it was always the same. Now we were cramped up in a Higgins boat. I always wanted to meet the guy, so I could tell him how we all felt about his invention. The flat bottom only made the rocking worse, and it was a miracle if you weren't seasick. Sarge was about to start his pep-talk, again. This time, it was a little different.

"This'll be our last practice until the actual landings, so make sure you give it your all! No more room for error, got that!" "Yes sir!"

The plan was simple. The US divisions would land on the beaches code-named Omaha and Utah. The British and Canadians would land on Gold, Sword and Juno. We were set to land on Omaha in the first wave and clear one side of the beach, while the 1st division would take care of the other side. At least, that was the theory. The practice landing went smoothly and we thought we were ready.

* * *

The last week slowly crept by and on the 4th of June we set sail. Several hours later we were back in port. The landings had been called of due to the extreme weather. We had to wait another 24 hours. June 5th 1944, we set sail again and this time it was real. During the night a fleet of over 5000 ships took their positions along the invasion front. In the early morning on the 6th of June the planes carrying the paratroopers flew over to drop their human payload over Normandy. We were to follow in a few hours time. 

5.30, on the morning of the 6th of June 1944. Again we were ordered into the rectangular box called Higgins boat, not to come off until we reached the shore. As our boat took its position in the line and headed towards the shore the battleship's guns started to fire. A hail of steel flew over our heads as all the ships joined in, the sound becoming even more deafening as the entire sky was filled with bombers and fighters headed for the Atlantic Wall. Little did we know the plan was already falling to pieces. The high-level bombers destined for Omaha beach were afraid to drop their cargo on friendly forces and dropped them to far inland. That meant there would be no craters for us to hide in. To make it worse, the fog had lifted, making us visible to the enemy. The landing crafts continued their way to the shore. To death. I took the opportunity to look around a bit. My friends and me were all pale and we all had the same emotionless expression on our faces. These men weren't hero's. They were sick, worried, disgusting creatures. Sarge talked a bit with us, about what lay ahead, if we knew our objectives, if we were afraid. We were afraid, and we had every right to be…

6.25, 5 minutes until the ramp would be lowered. "Keep your heads down, stay clear of the ramp!" Sarge's voice boomed. Surprisingly the German artillery remained silent. 500 meters to the shore… 400… 300… suddenly the German guns, guns of which nobody thought capable of surviving the Allied bombardment, opened fire. Huge jets of water sprayed up as large shells fell all around us. 200 meters, the boat next to us exploded as it hit a mine. Its crew got blown into the sky and bodyparts started raining down. I couldn't keep it in anymore. I dashed for the railing and threw up. Sarge pulled me back in and scolded me for hanging my head overboard. 100 meters, the sound of machinegun bullets hitting the ramp was clearly distinguishable. "Thirty seconds!" We got our first good look of the beach. It was littered with tankblockers and other iron objects. Some clearly had mines attached to the iron poles. A boat to our right let its ramp down… right on top of a mine. The entire front exploded and the back sank like a brick. It was our turn…

6.30, all over the beach ramps were lowered and the soldiers inside were treated with a hail of gunfire coming from the cliffs. Our ramp went down and I became a target. I had never been under fire before, I was scared out of my wits and I was packed so heavily I could barely move. Somehow I managed to get out off the boat and into the cold water of the Atlantic. I looked around to see where my friends were. Sarge was barking orders at Tucker and Nat, but Pratt and Piper were nowhere to be found. Using the obstacles as cover we slowly made our way up the beach, occasionally firing a shot at our invisible enemies. "Get to the shingle!" Sarge yelled at us. When I finally got to the relative safeness of the shingle I looked back over the beach. It was littered with dead bodies and blood. The sight I witnessed next was downright bizarre. Standing upright against one of the obstacles was Nat's lower half, while the upper half lay facedown on the sand. He had been cut in half by machinegun fire. Shock and fear made their way into me as I had to throw up again. I could feel movement besides me. It was Tucker, who made a face after seeing the halved Natalle. He turned to me and asked where Sarge was. I honestly had no idea. I looked for him and spotted him lying on his back staring blankly at the sky. His hands were pressing on his abdomen where blood was staining his uniform at an alarming rate. I watched on as I saw the last drops of life seep out of our sergeant. I watched him die… I watched him die, and did nothing to help… He just lay there, in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of countless others. His heart was still pumping, it had to have, because the blood just kept on coming.

I slipped into a sort of trance, along with so many others that day. The sound of the machinegun fire slowly faded away, the world became nothing but a blur. I didn't feel guilt. How could I have helped him? By running over? By getting myself shot? By dying? No! No more death, I would live! And I thought training had been hell… Training hadn't even been close to resembling this hell. How could anything possible resemble this? Sarge had always told us to keep our shit together, but now, Sarge was gone, and so was our hope. Our hope lay there in its own blood and had just given its last breath. It had been with us since our first training until just now. Our hope was Sarge, and now he was dead.

………………

Slowly but surely I started to regain some sense. Someone was shaking me wildly and yelling in my face, yet I couldn't understand a thing he said. "…p out of it, boy! Snap out of it!" I widened my eyes as the realization hit me. I was on a beach, during a war. Gunfire could still be heard. I looked at the man in front of me. It was a Colonel. He told me we were about to break through the German defenses and he needed every man who could walk. I nodded as I grabbed my rifle. Tucker came over and told me I'd been like that for at least half an hour. Suddenly a loud bang ran over the beach and war cries followed. The whole beach began to move to the opening like one big being. Tucker and I let ourselves be carried with the flow. Slowly but surely, everybody snapped out of their doze and started moving inland. The German defenses were overrun and the guns were silenced. I received a medal not long after, though I didn't deserve it. Sarge deserved it, but he was dead. He couldn't take the medal even if he wanted to, so they send it home. Together with an American flag and his dogtags. Like Sarge, so many others died that day, with the losses on Omaha beach reaching well into the thousands.

May God have mercy on their souls…

* * *

**AN: **So, did you like it? First story I wrote in this category, hope it wasn't that bad. If you ask me kindly, I might consider writing more chapters about the European campaign, but there'd better be lots of reviews, coz this was intended as a one-shot! Anyway, hope you enjoyed, until we meet again. 

_WeirdDutchGuy_


	2. The Breach

**Claimer: **This story is mine, live with it! 

**AN:** So... you liked it? Good! You want more? Good! More you get. ww 2 nerd, I seriously doubt you can get the Red Army to get me, partially coz they don't exist anymore. But, should some vets be reading this (veeeeeeery doubtful) I'd better not take that chance :) so here you go, fresh off the keyboard. Caleb, I haven't played COD. Was intending on buying it, but I'm a bit short on cash. Not buying the new MOH soon, coz, well, the reason just mentioned + my PC would explode when I run it. On occasions I like blood and stuff, but again, I think the requirements are a bit to high for this 3-4 year old piece of junk :)

Damn, my word doesn't work, so I have to count the words manually :S (I like to keep the actual chapters 2000 words +) And I lost the grammar check etc. so expect some errors to have slipped past my scrutiny.

* * *

**The Breach

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**

_I won't watch it anymore..._

_I won't watch you die..._

_I won't let you..._

_I will fight..._

_I totally screwed up on the beach. Why? I don't know. I just froze. It won't happen again. I won't allow it. This time, I will make it. You will. We will all make it out of this hell. "Fix bayonets!" Today, we will succeed. No German will stop us now. "Get ready!" Nothing will! "Charge!"...

* * *

_

After 24 agonizing hours of fighting we had secured the beach, silenced the heavy guns, smoked out the last resisting Germans and blown up every imaginable sort of defensive structure. Now we pushed forward into an area just past the cliffs of Normandy consisting of a true maze of natural barriers. Ridges, ditches and hedges lined every road. The Germans utilized these natural defenses masterfully, causing the many losses on our side to rise dramatically. Every time we took one ridge, they had pulled back to the next and sprayed our troops with a mix of artillery, mortars, machineguns and rifles. Of course, the extremely annoying habit of leaving behind lone snipers, hidden from view with great care, didn't make things easier for us.

Tucker and I had been reassigned to a new squad. As we slowly made our way through the difficult terrain we picked up some paratroopers. They had been dropped behind the lines before the main assault on the beaches to take key positions and keep the enemy occupied as we took them. I admired these men. The courage it must take to willingly allow yourself to be dropped in enemy territory with only the most basic weaponry. I heard of one unit who had to hold off enemy armored units with nothing but rifles and handguns. We were now slowly liberating small pockets of these elite troops so they could take the rest they so deserved.

Eventually we met up with a small group consisting of members of both the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions. They had been trying to take out two machinegun nests, and had only recently succeeded. Their method: one of the troopers had dropped his rifle and ran towards one of the guns screaming a war cry. Bet the gunner hadn't seen anything like it in his life, because even though he never stopped shooting not one bullet hit its mark. The gap was closed in seconds and the trooper had jumped in and slid his throat with a bayonet. The second gunner had tried to run for it but was gunned down by the others. After hearing the unbelievable story we decided to tag along with the group. Their Lieutenant, a guy named Muir, was having trouble walking. When he was in his manhole a grenade had exploded between the hard wall and the bag where his gas mask was stored. Though it wasn't an open wound, it caused a huge bruise and his bone was broken. He couldn't walk anymore as he could feel the ends of the bone slide against each other. We left him and continued to... well, we didn't really know.

* * *

We made good progress, sometimes taken under fire, but nothing serious. We met up with another gang of soldiers who had teamed up with a pair of Sherman tanks. They were trying to clear out some Germans further down the road. Suddenly one of the tank commanders came out and said he'd clear the way for us. He positioned his tank in a way so one of the tracks was in the ditch by the side of the road and drove up to the Germans. Most tried to run for cover but they were quickly put down by our fire. Others decided to stay in the ditch and were crushed when the tank drove through it, their screams echoing across the countryside. The rest of the Germans clearly couldn't take this and ran for it in random directions. Not one made it. 

Our group decided to take a break at a farmhouse. We discovered a few barrels of wine in a shed and greedily poked holes in them with a knife. After drinking our worries away the war found us again, much to our regret. We spend the rest of the day fending off small scale assaults on our lines. As darkness set in we knew we were in for a hard battle. The long wait began, as we cautiously peered over the edges of our manholes. Suddenly I heard the low rumbling of a heavy duty engine in the distance. Watching closely I could swear I saw shadows moving about and then all hell broke loose.

The engine sound was from a Mark IV Panzer, and while this information sank in, its muzzle slowly turned towards our line. I ducked as low as I could and heard a deafening bang followed shortly by an equally deafening explosion. And another one... lucky for us we laid those mines earlier. As I popped up again shooting had started all over the place. The tank was burning only a few feet in front of me and the screams of the crew were clearly heard as they were cremated on the spot in their metal coffin. Those anti-tank mines really packed a punch. As I looked at it in horror, a German soldier came up from behind the tank and pointed his MP40 directly at me. I was quicker as I pumped him full of lead with my Thompson. My first real kill. For a moment I didn't know what to think. I just shot another human being. I killed. It was as if I didn't have control over my actions, like a reflex. I wasn't granted too long to ponder this as more soldiers came to their fallen comrades aid. They too fell victim to my submachine gun. Well, most of them anyway, and what was left was taken care of by Tucker, who was lying in a small trench not far from my position. As the battle intensified, grenades were thrown from one side to the other and bullets were flying through the air tearing up whatever it was they made contact with, be it wood, stone, or human flesh. As the battle went on the Germans disappeared as fast as they had shown up. Only by daybreak did we realize the true extend of this skirmish. A small group of only 24 U.S. troops had successfully repelled a full scale enemy counterattack on the allied lines. Out of the original 24 only 16 made it through the night. The stunning discovery however, was that those 24 had single-handedly taken out over 30 enemy soldiers and wounded countless more. After we rounded up the survivors and locked them up in the shed we continued in the general direction we thought was 'forward', or 'further inland'.

* * *

Off we went again, in search of the war. After another hour of walking through the wasteland that Normandy had been changed into we came across a small enemy convoy. They were reinforcements for the troops fighting the paratroopers. We attacked it, even if we were down to 16. No idea what those Germans thought, maybe they thought we were just the spearhead of a much larger force, but they ran. We couldn't believe our eyes. Two of us chased a small group of Germans down the field on the side of the road and eventually managed to shoot them just before they crawled over the ridge on the other side. It was a mistake. The main German force in the area just happened to be behind that ridge and as soon as our guys opened fire several MG42's popped up along the ridge and cut them down. We quickly took cover in the ditch by the side. Down to 14 now. One of our guys carried a radio, but the stupid thing only worked once every hour or so. After several tries he finally got it to work and called for reinforcements. We waited another 20 minutes before our main unit arrived on the scene. Now the chances were somewhat fair, with just about 200 men on our side and about 250 on the enemy's side. It didn't take long before the first order to attack came... 

"Charge!" And up we went. It was a complete failure, despite the fact we actually did take the ridge from the Germans. Our ranks were decimated by enemy machinegun fire and mortar rounds going off in the middle of small groups of running soldiers, taking out dozens at a time. By the time we reached the ridge the enemy had retreated to the next. As we lay there, panting, I glanced at Tucker. I couldn't help but thinking of Sarge, and how he met his end. Such a fate awaited all of us... No, I can't think that way. It works quite demoralizing, so I can't if I want to live. I looked at Tucker again, thinking. I won't watch it anymore... I won't watch you die... I won't let you... I will fight... I totally screwed up on the beach. Why? I don't know. I just froze. It won't happen again. I won't allow it. This time, I will make it. You will. We will all make it out of this hell. "Fix bayonets!" Today, we will succeed. No German will stop us now. "Get ready!" Nothing will! "Charge!" There was that order again. Now, bayonets fixed firmly to our barrels, we charged again. We ran as if our lives depended on it, because quite frankly, they did. We went over the ridge and charged straight into the enemy's sights. And into reach of their long range artillery. We didn't stop, not even when limbs went flying after their owners were blasted into oblivion by enemy shelling. We didn't stop after the forward ranks got cut to pieces by enemy machinegun fire. And we certainly didn't stop after we found out we had advanced so fast only three quarters of the enemy forces had managed to retreat, leaving the remainders to our bayonets. We didn't rest a bit, for the order came to charge the next ridge immediately. This repeated itself a few more times before the remaining Germans ran out of ridges and retreated into a nearby village. We found out first hand that they were masters in fortifying villages after we charged it, causing even more losses. The officer in charge decided it would be best if we rested a while before attempting another go at the village. Thus we waited and licked our wounds.

The day after we set out with one goal in mind: to liberate that town from the German occupation. In the early morning we sneaked our way right up to the entrance using the cover of darkness and surprised some sentries before they could raise the alarm. The few paratroopers that had decided to stay with us turned out to be masters at silent killing. Though that made perfect sense, since they usually operate deep in enemy territory. When the sun came up the Germans awoke and our cover was blown. Fierce fighting broke out all over the place, as soldiers of both sides engaged in close-quarter combat. As Tucker and I cleared out a building on the corner of the main street we looked out the window and saw a Tiger tank drive down the road. It was heading straight for a group of troopers, who were desperately shooting it with light weapons. We both pulled a grenade and dumped it right on the back of the tank as it drove past our window, after which we jumped for cover. Seconds later they exploded setting the gasoline tanks on the rear of the tank on fire. The crew tried to crawl out of the hatches but were sprayed as soon as they opened them. Building by building, street by street, the town fell into our hands.

* * *

Things were finally starting to look up to us, as the Germans hastily retreated from the Normandy battlegrounds. Tucker and I had been in awe of the skills and abilities of the Paratroopers and decided to sign up for the 101st Airborne, who were in desperate need of replacements after the battle for Normandy. Happily received, we were given a quick training in basic tactics and jumps, after which we were officially Paratroopers. When we joined our division, we were seen by the veterans as nothing more then fillers, canonfodder. This soon changed as Tucker began telling how we got into the war and we soon developed a mutual respect with the hardened veterans. As Paris came into reach, everyone was certain Hitler's Third Reich was crumbling. Nothing could be further from the truth. As our army's advanced North, Hitler and his generals were planning what would be the last convulsions of the Third Reich. And, unknown to us, they would be far more violent than anything we had seen before...

* * *

**AN:** And so ends another tale of... never mind. Did you like it? Personally, I think it's a lot better then the first chapter, but what do you think?

Mwahahahaha! Victory is mine! I used my brothers PC to count the length of this chapter and I'm happy to say this is the longest chapter I have ever written. This chapter counted 2170 words, whereas the first one counted 1947 (and with that I mean the story part, not counting the AN). With that I kept a promise I made myself to only write chapter in excess of 2000 words. And now, just for fun, here is the total amount of words including AN and such… 4763 words! Now please keep those reviews coming, I like to see people care ;)

_WeirdDutchGuy_


	3. The Bridge

**AN:** Well, here's the update! changed the rating system. I believe rating R is now M, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I didn't change the rating because won't allow R rated stories in C2 Communities. I have this one in mine, and therefore I can't rate it R. Like I said, I'm not making fun of anyone, so rest assured. The reason there was a Colonel is… because I say so! And I read it somewhere, but I don't remember the exact title of the book. It says he wanted to land in the first wave with the soldiers he trained, not sit aside and watch them do all the work. Anyway, it is my story so I say there is a Colonel on the beach. If this story reminds people of MOHAA than that means I'm doing a good job, I guess. Here comes my feeble attempt at describing Market Garden. And a very very very very small part of the Battle of the Bulge, which will rock… next chapter.

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**Market Garden: A Bridge Too Far

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**

_I was close enough to the exit to see outside. Being second in line had its advantages, as the sight was magnificent. Bullets ricocheted off of the steel as the ground fire intensified even more. C-47s filled the air at every altitude. As we neared our objective all hell broke loose when suddenly every Flak unit in the area opened fire at the tightly packed formation. We watched as several planes took a hit and plummeted to the ground as massive fireballs. Suddenly the whole plane shook violently as a shell ripped straight through the floor and right out again through the roof. We heard groaning and a trooper further down the line collapsed as he clenched a hole in his stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. We hadn't even jumped when the bloodshed began…

* * *

_

Our parade through Paris had been grand, and it was indeed a beautiful city. Well, what was left of it was. Tucker and I had joined the Paratroopers. The 101st 'Screaming Eagles' Airborne. The recruitment officers were quite happy to see us, but the troopers themselves gave us a cold welcome. We didn't get along too well, and they kept ignoring us as best they could. On one occasion Tucker couldn't take it anymore and started a fight. There was two of us, and ten of them. Imagine the outcome. They did open up a bit more after that, though, it took quite some courage to stand up to them and they seemed to know that. They told us about their share in the D-Day landings, and we told them about ours. It didn't take long to break the ice after that and we quickly became part of the unit.

Several days later we were redirected further North. Rumors traveled fast among us, and new rumors made their way to our quarters. It claimed Allied Command was planning a major offensive on a Dutch city. The reason was simple: the city held an important strategic value. It held a bridge. Ever since France was liberated the war went into overdrive. In only weeks Monty and Patton had driven the Germans back across the rivers in the Netherlands and back over their own borders. There was just one little problem: how to get over those rivers ourselves. Rivers can easily be used as natural barriers to stop tanks and trucks. Foot soldiers could swim across, but without our armor the Germans would pick them apart. That's where we came in. If the rumors were true, we would be dropped behind the enemy lines and of course, the river. We'd then take the Dutch town of Arnhem with its bridge, and hold it until our ground forces crossed it. Pretty simple, one might think, but we were in for quite a surprise when we got there. A very bloody one…

* * *

"Pack your stuff people, we're moving out!" A Captain yelled at us. Tucker and I were quick to pack and made our way out of the barrack with the others. Outside we all lined up for one final inspection. Today was the day, today we'd make history, or so we thought. After all the planning and practice, we weren't so sure of ourselves than we were when we first heard the rumor. It had all seemed too easy, but it turned out to be quite a complicated plan. The airborne army wouldn't just be us, it would contain the 82nd Airborne as well, and the British, and some Poles even. Together our group was huge, and it made me wonder if we even had enough planes to drop us all. This proved not to be an issue, as we were marched to the airstrip. Dozens of C-47s were lined up there and were being fueled as we boarded them. I was told there were dozens of these airstrips scattered all over Belgium and Northern France. As we settled into our assigned seats the engines burst to life and the plane began taxiing towards the runway. My seat was the second one from the door on my side. One by one the planes took off and set course for our intended drop-zone. While airborne we barely felt we were moving and minutes after departure several troopers began to sing. It was our way of killing time, for we knew it'd take a while to reach our destination. It didn't take long for everyone to join in and all thoughts of the upcoming battle were banned from our minds.

About an hour later pretty much everyone had dozed off. We were suddenly awoken when the red light lit up and the jumpmasters started yelling orders. We then heard a beeping sound and the pilot started to speak. "Good morning everyone, this is your pilot speaking. We are approaching the drop-zone, please unfasten your seatbelts and stand up. Thank you." We stood up when the jumpmasters opened the large doors in the side of the plane, just as we flew over our lines and Germans started firing randomly at our planes from below.

I was close enough to the exit to see outside. Being second in line had its advantages, as the sight was magnificent. Bullets ricocheted off of the steel as the ground fire intensified even more. C-47s filled the air at every altitude. As we neared our objective all hell broke loose when suddenly every Flak unit in the area opened fire at the tightly packed formation. We watched as several planes took a hit and plummeted to the ground as massive fireballs. Suddenly the whole plane shook violently as a shell ripped straight through the floor and right out again through the roof. We heard groaning and a trooper further down the line collapsed as he clenched a hole in his stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. We hadn't even jumped when the bloodshed began. The jumpmaster on my side quickly started giving out orders again and we slowly resettled in what was now a routine. As I checked the chute of the guy in front of me to see if it was attached and well I felt someone else tug on mine. The red light started flashing and the jumpmasters gave the 'get ready' order. The trooper in front of me turned towards the exit and waited. The light went dark and the green one next to it flashed on. "Go!" And there he went. I turned in as I was next in line. "Go!"

* * *

I barely heard the 'o' as I was halfway out of the plane by then. As my chute opened up the air current from the left engine caught it and harshly tugged me backwards. I was now sailing in the air, like my practice jumps. The difference was people were shooting at me now. I watched in awe as I took in the sight before me. The sky was filled with planes, parachutes and flak. I could see tracer rounds shoot past me and I looked up, hoping my canopy wasn't ripped by those last bullets. I looked up just in time to see the rounds cutting through the wing of the C-47 that dropped me and my teammates. I could see how it veered off to the left as the pilot lost control and then it started spinning as it spiraled down and crashed on top of an Anti-Aircraft gun. Fitting how the bastards who shot it down were the ones who became victim of its crash. I was getting close to the ground now, and I assumed the pose I had learned during my short training as I hoped it would work.

I hit the ground feet first with a solid thud and let myself fall and roll to soften the impact. Pulling down my chute I rid myself of the harness and assembled my M1. Several others made their way towards me and together we headed towards our main objective, Arnhem. The town lay a few kilometers to the south. We decided to close the gap quick, so we marched at a running pace. After a few minutes we had to dodge a falling plane, and our direct route to the city was cut off by a blazing fire. We rounded the plane quickly, at a safe distance, and saw Germans flushing out of the city. They were headed for us, so we dropped down on the floor and lay out crossfire, catching quite a few off-guard. The others were quick to spot us, however, and returned fire with their MP40's. Though horribly inaccurate, it diverted our attention long enough to keep us from spotting a tank leaving the city, and pointing its cannon towards us. We didn't know it was there until it started shooting shell after shell at our positions. There weren't even supposed to be tanks here, so its presence amazed us all. As we watched in horror more tanks started rolling out of the town. The second wave of planes arrived just then and some of them dropped their troopers straight amidst the Germans. Most were cut down in the air, but some landed and offered fierce resistance. This was our cue, and we stormed the Germans, not caring about the tanks. After killing the soldiers we tossed grenades at, on, under and into the tanks, destroying every single one. It was then that we noticed something.

* * *

"This is a freakin' SS Panzer division! They shouldn't even be here!" One of our officers yelled after a closer inspection of the German corpses. Several sarcastic 'great' and 'just our luck' cries were heard before our captain started forcing us into the town. We didn't feel like taking on tanks with nothing but light arms, but we knew we had to. Once inside, a bitter street-to-street fight started. This quickly changed in house-to-house combat as the German defenders learned of our presence. And in the end it resulted in us trying to take each house room by room. One of the goons really pissed us off by destroying our only rocket launcher, a captured Panzerschreck, with a bullet straight on the fire button. Unintentionally killing himself when the thing fired and he ate the rocket. This convinced me rockets taste bad, though I luckily never had the pleasure of finding out first hand. After staring at the pair of bloody boots before us for a moment, we moved on to the next house. We ran into some British troopers in there and they agreed to tag along, seeing as we had the same objective anyway. We didn't realize it, but the tanks we saw outside the town were now inside, and when we crossed the street to the next row of houses one of the behemoths fired at us. The resulting explosion killed a few and wounded others. Tucker and I cursed under our breath as we looked back at the street which was littered with body-parts. Our squad was now cut in three. One third made it to the house, one third was dead or wounded and the other third was still in the house we came from. They signaled us to cover them while they crossed, so we bashed a few windows and started shooting the German soldiers who were attracted by the explosion. By now the tank had reloaded and was waiting for the others to make their crossing attempt. One of them ran out on the road to get it to fire, but the tank waited to see if anyone else came. Apparently its commander didn't want to waste a shell on a single soldier. Seeing this was the case, the others tried to come over one at a time, but only three managed before the commander lost patience and manned one of the machineguns on the top of his tank and perforated the fourth crosser. Tucker saw this as his chance as he leaned out of his window and shot the guy clean in the forehead. It would've worked too, if he wasn't wearing a helmet. Dozed by the sudden impact, the commander lost his balance and fell out of the tank. We watched in amazement as he immediately started yelling "Nicht schießen, nicht schießen!" (Don't shoot, don't shoot!) Obviously seeing Tucker's M1 pointed at him. While doing so he started climbing his tank in a feeble attempt of survival. Tucker never gave him the time as he shot him again, this time aiming for the torso. The German's body shook for a moment before collapsing again, this time for good. The tank crew obviously didn't like this as they let their gun sway and rest firmly on Tucker's window. We all started yelling "Get out!" as loud as we could and Tucker jumped from the first floor just in time to cover his head from falling debris. One of the Brits took his chance and quickly disposed of the tank crew after jumping down the hatch. We heard some shooting and muffled screams from the inside and he emerged again seconds later.

* * *

Hours later we reached the all important bridge. Well defended as it was, we had to wait for more troops to arrive before we could make our move. At around nightfall we felt like we had enough men so we took positions, preparing to rush the bridge. Not only did we have to succeed in capturing the bridge, but we also had to keep the Germans from blowing it up. If they blew the bridge the entire operation would be nothing but a waste of lives. Suddenly we rushed forward while yelling a battle cry. The Germans were caught off guard and started to run for the other end. We chased them down the bridge, but several machineguns were waiting for us. We ducked behind what little cover was available and returned fire the best we could. I capped a few Germans, but more took their places. This rush had failed and it didn't take long before the order to retreat was given. As Tucker and I gave covering fire the others retreated several meters and gave us cover while we did the same. We took up positions in the houses at our end of the bridge. The Germans tried to retake their earlier positions, but from our houses we could pick them off one at a time. Nevertheless things looked pretty bad for us. The enemy had tanks, and we were running out of grenades. Grenades weren't the only things in short supply, we were depleting our ammo fast and if we didn't get any soon we'd only have our knives left. At day break this huge tank appeared out of nowhere. I recognized its structure as that of a Tiger tank and watched as one of the most dreaded monsters of the war rolled straight at us. We did the only thing we could, we panicked. People were frantically searching for any grenades we might have left, but we couldn't find any. The huge tank tilted its 88mm canon up towards our window and we rushed for the stairs. Ducking behind anything that even closely resembled cover we held our breath. Nothing came. Confused I walked over to the door and slowly poked my head out. Hanging out of the hatch laughing his head off was a Paratrooper. We didn't think it was funny and we let him know it. He explained him and his mates had captured this tank on some Germans near the town entrance. We quickly forgave his tasteless prank after we realized we now had something to fight back with. They got to use it almost instantly, for the Germans must've thought it was theirs. They came out to drive us out of the house, only to freeze when the tank's 88mm turned to face them instead. One of them started shooting at the tank with his Mauser, but seemed to forget the bullets just bounced off the armor. One shot killed the lot of them; we didn't even have to move a muscle.

Armed with our tank we stormed the bridge again, making quick work of the machinegun nests at the other side. Now all we had to do was hold the bridge until our own armored unit could reach us. Sounds easy enough, right? Not really, as the Germans rallied their tanks and drove us right out of the town. Losses on our side were mounting, and our ammo was running low. Top of it all, we hadn't had a decent meal since we got here. Our radioman was trying to contact HQ to arrange a supply drop and after dozens of tries he finally got through. About an hour later we heard planes coming in and we stared up at the sky. Those C-47s had never looked this good before. We continued to stare as several boxes were dropped from them, with parachutes attached. We watched as they slowly fell to the ground. The wind picked up and we continued to watch as the crates slowly drifted away… towards the German lines. They got our food. Not long after we got the order to retreat. Not to new positions, but across the river, back to our own lines.

* * *

We waited until midnight to start crossing the river. We used small inflatable rafts to sit in, but we had no paddles, so one of us had to swim to the other side carrying a rope. Then we pulled ourselves across using the rope. Tucker and I were good three-quarters into the crossing when the Germans shot several flares into the sky above us. It didn't take them long to spot our chain of rafts and they fired at us with machineguns. The bullets tore right through the rubber and everywhere rafts were starting to deflate and sink. We pulled as many people into our raft as we could before we started pulling again. The guy next to me groaned loudly and fell back into the water. I could just see the red stains on his uniform before he went under. We reached the other bank and looked back at the carnage. Something deep inside me told me the Germans must've known about our midnight exodus, but I wisely kept my mouth shut.

Our hardship wasn't at an end just yet, as we had to fight our way back to our lines while being chased by a whole German division. If only the ground forces would've pushed through to Arnhem, maybe this would've had some use. Now all it was was senseless bloodshed and a waste of men and equipment. This major defeat set back the end of the war by another year, if not longer. Germany celebrated as we mourned our losses. We didn't know, but the worst was yet to come…

* * *

**AN:** Ok, I know I said this chapter would at least feature the start of the Bulge, but as you can see it didn't. I had no choice, this chapter counted almost 3200 words, and I believe I rushed the ending, so it could've well been longer. In my opinion it would've been too big, so I chose not to start the Bulge just yet. I don't know an awful lot about Market Garden, but this is what I came up with. Most of the stuff I got from things I've read and movies I've seen, but other then that it is my imagination. In my opinion this battle has been vastly overlooked by historians, as it was indeed nothing more but pointless bloodshed, fueled by Monty's (I think it was his idea, but not sure) ambition to end the war in 1944. It was a massive sacrifice of men and material with the sole purpose of bringing the war to Germany. If it hadn't failed I might've understood what drove the planners, but it failed miserably so I can feel no sympathy towards those men. The blood of many is on their hands.

Rest assured though, the Battle of the Bulge WILL be fought in the next chapter. If you think this chapter was too long, tell me and I'll split long chapters up in the future to ease your reading.

_WeirdDutchGuy_


	4. Important Developments

**Important Author Note to all of you:**

As you might've noticed this story hasn't seen a lot of activity lately. The reason for this is that I need to reread a book I got to get back into the details of the Bulge. This book is 300 pages thick and I've been doing a lot of reading lately, just not in this book. Believe me, I want to read it and write the next chapter but I don't have the time right now.

Saying so means that this is indeed not a new chapter as you all might've hoped, but simply an author note. I know this is against the rules and believe me it goes against all my principles to even consider uploading this note as if it was a chapter. This will immediately be deleted and replaced with the next chapter should it come and was only put up to let you know my plans for this story.

I've been doing some thinking and I'm thinking of totally revamping this story. Don't worry, it can only get better. I'm just not happy with it the way it is. I also believe the title of this story has become totally irrelevant, but anyway, here are the plans should I revamp it.

The story will focus on the war efforts of my invented character and he will tell about these adventures in the past tense first person POV. The main story line will span from the Normandy landings to the end of the war, so about one year of our 'real' time. Most of what I have already will be used to create this new story that will be titled… drum roll

**Medal of Honor: Jump into Chaos**

This will be an original story and will only be loosely connected to the existing games. It'll be based on real facts and the memories of combat veterans and will hopefully grow into a detailed account of what the war could've been like for all those young men who fought for our freedom all those years ago. We owe them a lot and I figured this would be the least I could do.

The thing about the games… you see, since this really isn't about any of the games it really doesn't classify as fan fiction, now does it. Well, I found an answer to this problem that has been plaguing me, namely this: The parts of this story that weren't based on the games (so pretty much the whole thing) were mostly based on these books I have. Therefore one could say I'm writing fiction based on the book, in other words; I'm writing fan fiction. I'm brilliant! Just one catch: the book I use isn't on the site.

I just wanted to get this up to answer some of the questions you guys must have by now. This is why I haven't updated. So please, reflect on these matters:

Should I or should I not revamp this story? If I do revamp it, it can only be for the better. Or I could just write the next chapter and start a new story. But that would suck up my time and updates will become even scarcer.

Should I even continue this story or the new one planned, considering it isn't really fan fiction? I could take this to FictionPress, but I'm unfamiliar with that site and don't have an account there. Plus I like the atmosphere and system here, so why change?

This is getting awfully long for a note. I doubt many of you have even read it, but it had to be done. Please give me some feedback on this but let it soak in first so you don't go ranting without thinking it through. Just for any Admins should they come past this: This note will be deleted or replaced with different content, as soon as this content is ready. Should I revamp this story it will of course just disappear and should I continue as I am it will be replaced. In no way is this note a permanent one.

Thank you for your attention and patience (because I know I'm stretching it right now),

_WeirdDutchGuy_


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